Quiver
by FleshofMidnight
Summary: The Marquis has seduction on the mind . . .
1. Default Chapter

  
"Linens, please."   
  
He could hear her coming down the hall, slowly, already tired. Her call to the inmates one that brought her boredom and only the promise of more work to do. What a life, cleaning sheets for the insane for a mere pitance. Not exactly the ideal for a young woman who should by all rights be experiencing the nightlife of Paris, dressed in expensive silks and dining at the finest of restaurants. Or, at the very least, enjoying the company of sane peers.   
  
"Your linens," Again, and if it were possible, Madeleine's voice had grown in exasparation. She was getting closer, now, almost to the end of the hall. Her feet sounded on the chill stone floors as she rose from her kneel. He imagined her straightening the folds of her modest dress so she might not trip over the skirts, or retrieving some stray cloth that had fallen from the weighty woven basket she hefted. Even, here in the asylum, as a prisoner, he couldn't complain that he performed manual labor. In fact, for the most part, aside from seeing that he more or less behaved himself, the Abbe de Coulmier and his staff left the Marquis to his own devices. And, he would not have it otherwise.   
  
The Marquis moved towards his door, lounging out, coattails splayed across the stone, and waited for the laundry lass to make an appearance at his tiny window. He estimated it would only be a moment or so more. But, his patience was waning. It had been a dull morning. He'd found himself uninspired to write one more line of prose. It also did not help matters that he'd already perused every new book his wife had sent him. Several of them had been without meat, others overly concerned with turning a flowery phrase. Few held his interest. He couldn't understand why Renee had gone to the task of purchasing several tomes if she were going to offer him puritanical garbage.  
  
"Your linens, please." Maddie was whispering now, her mouth almost touching at his door. The sound of her voice sent a faint thrill through his veins and he relished to hear it again.  
  
Yet, he did not answer her, but instead, decided to see if he could prolong this visit.  
  
"Your linens. . ." Maddie tapped a finger on the iron door, setting her basket beside her feet, and used a free hand to open the little window's gate further. The Marquis edged against the wall, just out of her small scope of vision through the hole.  
  
"Marquis. . .Marquis. . ." My, she was growing ever insistant. And, if he did not dare to think it, even worried. This was becoming even more of a game than he had hoped.   
  
Madeleine, hand quivering just a bit, fumbled in her skirts for a set of brass keys. Retrieving the sought after one, she forged it into the keyhole. "Marquis, I hope this is not some foolish trick. I have work to be done. . . . I'm coming in."  
  
"And if it is," He chuckled to himself, too low for her ears, and scurried with the speed and agility of a feline to shadow himself in the curtains of his four poster bed.  
  
The laundrymaid's steps were unhurried, tentative as she opened the heavy door and entered the large, fully-furnished cell. It wasn't that she had not ventured inside before, but in the previous visits, she'd always seen the Marquis sitting at his desk or on the chaise lounge, gazing at her expectantly as she made her way. A small fear pressed at her, glimmering somewhere behind her eyes. A warning, perhaps. Just to be careful. Often, in the Marquis' company, Madeleine Leclerc found herself behaving or speaking in ways not familar and comfortable, improper at best. But as the caution set in, so did the notion that yes, she could look after herself, and really had nothing to fear from the Marquis but a stolen kiss or two. He would never hurt her. No, for some reason she had not attained, he respected her far too much to cause her pain. Unless she asked for it. . .  
  
"Marquis, please, it's no longer funny," Maddie had reached the edge of the bed, one hand poised to brush back the filmy drapes. "The Abbe will be quite upset if I do not finish my rounds on time today. You remember how he scolded me last time. . .said I was not to visit you ag-"  
  
His hand formed to her waist from behind, the other roped loosely in the mass of her hair, applying only enough pressure to intimidate, or thrill. . ."Again." He finished her sentence, his voice mellifluous and dark, snaking into her ears as her breath stuck in her throat. The lass made a small effort to free herself and turn around, but gave up on the struggle almost as quickly as she'd begun. Curiosity was winning over any slight trepidation.   
  
"Ah, Coquette, wouldn't that be a shame?" The Marquis took her earlobe between his lips as the last syllable unravelled, his hands dropping from her sides.   
  



	2. On a string

Madeleine gasped, the muscles in her back tensing reflexively as her whole body seemed to tighten. She could not have honestly said it was fear that caused such a reaction within her. "Marquis...please!" Maddie twisted her shoulders, trying to shrug out of his grasp, but gave up on the fight when she realized his hold was definitely determined. And, then again, she was not putting forth her full effort.  
  
"Oh, such protestations." He laughed, his voice like the sharper rings of chimes, and turned her about to face him, chest to chest.  
  
"I'm serious." Maddie's face curled up in frustration, her breath coming out heavy, lungs and breasts straining against the corset stays. Her hair had fallen in front of her eyes, and the Marquis brushed it away with his fingers. Madeleine, perhaps unaware of her own body's urges, pushed forward, towards his touch. The move would have been unnoticed by any other sort of man, but de Sade was aware of all the responses of the human form, could sense the most subtle of motions. And this slight sway of Maddie's was much like that of a slowing pendulum. Moving because it had no choice, there had been a pull, though in the girl's case it was not gravitational.  
  
"Maddie, what is it that you want from me?" he leaned in to her, their noses and lips close to touching. The laundrymaid's heavy and nervous breathing came across his cheek in a frantic rhythm. Her fear- no, not quite fear, anxiety- excited him, encouraged him. She had not pulled away.  
  
The young woman did not answer for a time, hoping that her silence would suffice. But, when his eyes did not break from her own, she knew she must provide him with a response. "Marquis, what kind of a question is that? When you are the one who invites me in?"  
  
"There is such a thing as free will, my dear. Knowing of your dear Abbe's preferences, you would not risk his disapproval simply to accede to a madman's requests. So, there must be something you want from me?" The Marquis' lips curled up at the corners before he pressed them onto hers for a matter of seconds. When he pulled back, Maddie was shaking, her hands frozen at her sides, lips white from the pressure of his mouth. But, she still did not seem afraid.  
  
Madeleine had thought of her answer the moment prior to this kiss, but now that she might speak, she found herself lacking the courage. "Sir, I come. . .because. . .I want to. . ."  
  
"Yes, I know you do want something." He purred, teasing her as if she were at the end of a string between his fingertips.


	3. To Toy

"Now, why would I want anything at all from you?" Maddie pushed him away with the heels of her palms, crinkling her nose up like a schoolchild. "You've got nothing to give me."  
  
He snickered in response, and spread himself out felinely on the divan in front of them. "Only a virgin would say something such as that, Maddie. Oh, but your fresh inexperience. My laundry lass, we could have great fun." He patted the seat beside him. There was not much available space on the piece of french furniture, but that was precisely the reason the Marquis offered the spot.  
  
"I'm not going to sit down beside you, sir. I know what will happen if I do. And, I don't want it." Her arms folded over her chest in a subconscious gesture of protection. Madeleine felt as if she were ignorant and helpless, and turned up the notch on her refusals.  
  
"Resistance is becoming harder. I see you straining against your urges," He teased, noticing her chest straining only against the corset stays. How he loved the clothing of the lower-classes. So sparce.  
  
"You can imagine all you want, but please just write it on paper. Spare me your advances. They bore me terribly." Although, truth be told, the highlight of the laundry girl's day was her visit to the Marquis. He made her nervous, but he also excited her in ways she couldn't deny nor give voice or thought to.  
  
"And, I shall write a story about you. About a fetching laundry lass who toiled all the day, and well . . .she didn't actually rest at night. Maybe, she takes a communion with the local priest. Would that make you happy, Madeleine?" Yes, he'd struck her where it hurt. He smiled at the blushing coming across her fair cheeks.  
  
"You have no right. If you scribble something like that, well, I'll burn it, I will."  
  
"And, you'll read it first, won't you?" He rose and went to his desk. Picking up a fresh black quill, he lit it to a piece of fine parchment, not actually writing anything of substance. The taunt need not be truthful.  
  
"How dare you!" The girl scrambled over towards him, ripping the quill from his hand.   
"You shouldn't write such filth."  
  
"And, you shouldn't read it!" The Marquis calmly whispered. The lowering of his voice was the closest thing she would receive to an adequate apology. He lifted up the sheet he'd written upon and held it up to her. "There's nothing on this page, but my name, Mademoiselle."  
  
"Well, then, I'm sorry. I must go. They'll wander where I've run off to. Goodbye, Marquis." She gathered up her basket of sheets and walked to the doorway. "I do hope that next time I come you will behave yourself." She stepped halfway to the other side of the door and waved.  
  
"Goodbye, my girl." he returned the gesture and watched the door slam shut. Picking his quill up once more, he took a seat at his desk, muttering. "Now, why would I do something like that . . ." 


End file.
